


The Cactus Where Your Heart Should Be

by qodarkness



Series: 69 Love Songs [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A piece of the Theon/Sansa puzzle, F/M, Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin Universe, M/M, Magnetic Fields, Non-con BDSM/torture, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Robb Stark is a Gift, Sansa Stark needs a flaming sword, Songfic, The Theon/Ramsay arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qodarkness/pseuds/qodarkness
Summary: Note: these four chapters are the Theon/Ramsay arc in the Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin universe. The first chapter describes borderline non-con BDSM/torture in relatively graphic detail and a character with suicide ideation. The second chapter is much less graphic but still not nice. The next two chapters are much less grim. Essentially I wrote the first and realised I actually needed to complete the arc before I could post it, because I didn’t want to leave Theon in that place.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark & Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy & Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy & Yara Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: 69 Love Songs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530320
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	1. The Cactus Where Your Heart Should Be

**Author's Note:**

> Note: these four chapters are the Theon/Ramsay arc in the Love Is Like A Bottle Of Gin universe. The first chapter describes borderline non-con BDSM/torture in relatively graphic detail and a character with suicide ideation. The second chapter is much less graphic but still not nice. The next two chapters are much less grim. Essentially I wrote the first and realised I actually needed to complete the arc before I could post it, because I didn’t want to leave Theon in that place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do you deserve this?” asked Ramsay, and if you hadn’t known him, you wouldn’t think it was a threat.

The tip of the knife was so sharp that he felt the trickle of blood down his pectoral muscle before he felt the pain of his skin parting. Theon groaned, his head falling back as he felt the knife slide further in under the skin, parting it from the muscle underneath. 

Ramsay’s hand gripped in his hair, tilted his head forward, squeezing the back of his skull until Theon knew that he had to open his eyes, look at Ramsay.

“That’s better,” purred Ramsay, as Theon finally looked at him. “Does it hurt, Theon?” he asked, as he eased the knife further beneath the skin, ice blue eyes locked on Theon’s, a small smile twisting the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” hissed Theon. 

“Ah,” said Ramsay, and leaned forward, so his lips nearly touched Theon’s ear, the change in posture pushing the knife outwards so it pushed against the skin, peeling it off from muscle, making Theon groan again, pain lacing down his chest, through his heart, into his spine. “But does it hurt enough?”

“I don’t… I can’t…” said Theon, and hissed as Ramsay slid the knife out from under his skin, leaving blood leaking down his chest. 

“You want it, Theon,” said Ramsay, his lips almost against the hollow of Theon’s throat. “You want me to do this to you, don’t you?” he asked, walking around Theon, his body almost, but not quite, brushing against Theon’s bare skin. 

“I…” said Theon, and then his breath hissed out of him as Ramsay’s hand trailed across his back, over the dips in the skin above his hips, where half-healed wounds ached at the touch.

“Tell me,” said Ramsay, his voice entirely reasonable, entirely calm. “Tell me or it won’t be new skin. You don’t want me opening up the old wounds again, do you?”

“No,” groaned Theon and sagged so his weight pulled the bonds on his wrists tight against the hook in the ceiling. 

“You want me to do this, don’t you?” asked Ramsay again, and his breath brushed against Theon’s shoulder blade, followed by a touch that could have been tongue or knife. 

“Yes,” said Theon, and Ramsay stepped close, his warmth suddenly radiating against Theon’s naked back. 

“Why?” he asked, almost disinterested and then there was another touch on Theon’s back, just below his rib cage and this one was a knife, and it hurt, it hurt so much, red inside his eyelids as the knife slid beneath his skin. 

“Why do you deserve this?” asked Ramsay, and if you hadn’t known him, you wouldn’t think it was a threat. 

But Theon knew him now, had known him for how long now, he couldn’t remember, could barely remember anything since he had handed himself over, heart and soul and body to the man who punished him the way he craved. 

“Alannys,” said Theon, and moaned as the knife eased further in.

“Who else?” asked Ramsay.

“Rodrik,” panted Theon and hissed again. “Maron. Balon. Yara.” 

“Tsk, tsk,” said Ramsay. “Just the Greyjoys. Betraying them, letting them die, is just fun, Theon. What you do for shits and giggles.” He slid the knife out, more blood trickling out and circled back in front of Theon. “Who did you really betray, Theon? Who did you hurt the most?”

The hand with the knife drifted downwards and Theon flinched as it brushed against his cock, lingered there for a moment and then drifted down further, to the soft skin on his inner thigh. 

“Who?” asked Ramsay again, blue eyes locked on Theon’s, the warmth of his fingers pressing the tip of the knife against Theon’s thigh, against the flutter of blood that pulsed through his femoral artery. “Who, Theon?”

“Robb,” whispered Theon. “Ned. Catelyn. Sansa. Bran. Rickon. Arya.” 

“All of them,” smiled Ramsay and Theon nodded. “Because I asked you,” said Ramsay and Theon nodded again. “Because I own you,” he said and Theon nodded. “Because you love me,” he said. 

“Yes,’ said Theon and, “Please,” he asked and groaned as Ramsay brought the knife up, slid it again into the hole in Theon’s chest he’d already made, twisted the skin open until Theon’s entire world went red with agony and he screamed and slumped within his bonds.

“Good boy,” said Ramsay, taking the knife out, and he drew Theon to him, drawing his head down onto his shoulder, then reaching and releasing the bonds around Theon’s wrists, letting him down, pain given and taken away. “That’s what you want,” he said and Theon nodded as he leaned against Ramsay.

It was what he wanted. And it wasn’t enough. 

Ramsay could make the world go red, paint everything outside with pain so intense that it matched and overwhelmed the pain inside, make Theon forget his own name and the name of everyone he’d ever loved and betrayed and failed and lost. 

But it couldn’t make Theon into what he wanted. 

Which was to be nothing and no one at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure I have notes for this chapter. Theon is in an incredibly dark place and Ramsay is keeping him there. And every time I write Ramsay, I wish to wash out my brain.
> 
> Lyrics to The Cactus Where Your Heart Should Be
> 
> The cactus where your heart should be has lovely  
> Little flowers so though it's always pricking me  
> My ardor never sours the cactus where your heart  
> Once was has power to rend and flay  
> I stick because I'm stuck, because I just can't tear myself away


	2. Reno Dakota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shadow fell across him and Theon looked up, expecting a waiter with a further message or maybe Ramsay himself.
> 
> What he didn’t expect was to find himself facing Yara Greyjoy.

Ramsay had not come home. Theon waited, as he always waited, in some suspended time and space where there was no one and nothing but Ramsay (because Ramsay had peeled everything and everyone else away) and the space where Ramsay was not. 

It was the cravings that made him do it eventually. He didn’t know what Ramsay was giving him (he had no more choice in that than he had in anything else) but whatever they were, the lack of them wore at him, pain at first, then more than pain, then a slow building agony.

It took a long time, days of waiting, before the current agony grew deep enough that Theon was willing to risk the future agony of Ramsay punishing him, the balance finally tilting far enough.

Theon knew Ramsay’s passwords, as he knew everything, given access to every option to communicate, to escape, knowing that any attempt to use them would be known immediately, acted upon immediately, punished with a reckless glee.

So he logged in, thought of what was likely to amuse Ramsay the most, and ended up opening Ramsay’s email account. It didn’t surprise him to find the first unread email in the Inbox had the subject header:  **To Theon Greyjoy.**

Theon thought long and hard, but he couldn’t fail to notice the shaking of his hands. It took a long time, but eventually he clicked on the email.

_ Theon _

_ Imagine thinking you could get away with reading my email.  _

_ That will need to be punished, of course. _

_ Come to me and get what you deserve.  _

_ Reno Dakota. _

_ Ramsay _

*****

Even Google had struggled to find what he wanted, but in the end Theon had been able to unpeel enough layers of misdirection and security to track down what Reno Dakota was. 

It was a club. Small. Discreet. Catering to the tastes of a man like Ramsay and the men and women who wanted what Ramsay would do to them. It was in Moat Cailin, tucked away in the basement of the oldest, dingiest parts of the city. 

He wasn’t sane, Theon knew. Didn’t look sane. Didn’t look well. So he took the time to clean himself up. His scars were… he tried not to look at them as he showered. But there were no fresh wounds, not even anything half-healed. He was barely skin and bone now, most of his muscle lost, cheekbones like razors, eyes smudged with dark shadows and looking way too large in his face. 

At least, thought Theon, a ghost of his sense of humour coming back, his suit would hang beautifully now. 

*****

They had greeted him by name at the door and Theon knew that Ramsay had let them know he was coming, knew he was on his way.

The seat he took was at the back of the club, in the dark, where few would be able to see him. The waiter brought him a drink, something vaguely unpleasant that he put aside after one sip. His master would be along soon, the waiter said. Ramsay was busy in one of the special rooms. 

His master, thought Theon, and nodded. Maybe it was what he wanted, once. He didn’t know any more. But it was clear that, no matter what he wanted now, Ramsay owned him. There was no escape. Not now. Not ever. There was just bad. And worse.

A shadow fell across him and Theon looked up, expecting a waiter with a further message or maybe Ramsay himself.

What he didn’t expect was to find himself facing Yara Greyjoy.

He wasn’t sure who was more shocked, him at Yara’s presence, or Yara at his appearance. She managed to get the first words out, though.

“What the fuck is that Bolton bastard doing to you?” she growled, and somehow Theon wasn’t surprised that she knew what was happening to him or who was doing it. Yara had always been very… efficient.

Theon looked away from her, licked his lips, stopped himself from cringing back into the leather of the seat he sat on. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she might hit him, but that had never been her way.

“What does it matter?” he said finally, his voice hoarse.

“Fuck’s sake, Theon,” she said, “you look like you’re dying.”

He swallowed, turned back to look at her. “What does that matter,” he repeated, “to you?”

The look on her face made it clear that his quiet words struck her as hard as any blow. She stared at him for a long moment, then finally ground out, “You’re my brother.”

He looked up at her suspiciously, “Did Balon send you?”

“No, Balon didn’t fucking send me,” she said. “Balon doesn’t give a fuck about you. I do, Theon. I know what this Ramsay is. I know what he does to people. I’ve come to take you away from him.”

Theon shook his head violently. “No,” he said, vehemently. “I can’t… he always knows. He’ll punish me.” 

“Fucking…” Yara stopped, drew a deep breath. “Theon, you have to come away from here with me. You know what this place is. You know what he does. You have to come home with me.”

“No,” said Theon again, sliding as far away from Yara as he could. “It’s a trick,” he said. “You’re a trick.” 

“I’m not tricking you,” said Yara. “I’m saving you. Come home with me.” She reached out and grabbed Theon’s arm. 

“NO!” It was a shriek this time and Theon pulled violently away from Yara. For a moment she was moving forward again, trying to grab him again and then two waiters had materialised either side of her, their grip on her arms like iron. 

“If you wish to undertake those kind of activities, miss,” said one of them, “then you need to go to one of the private rooms. There would be a fee.” He looked at Theon, who was pressed as far away from Yara as he could be. “And all participants are required to sign a waiver form that indicates that they are willing to play.”

“Oh, she won’t need a waiver form,” said a voice from behind Yara, and Theon relaxed as Ramsay smiled at him. If there was to be punishment, it wasn’t going to be immediate. “Ms Greyjoy doesn’t wish to play with me.”

“I didn’t know she was going to be here,” said Theon, hoarsely. “I didn’t want to go with her.” 

“I know, Theon,” soothed Ramsay. “I think your sister is on a bit of a Choose Your Own Adventure jaunt into my world.” He smiled at Yara, and then frowned as he looked down at his cuffs, at the small streaks of blood that decorated the edges of them. “I wasn’t finished with what I was doing,” he said. “I had to come up because someone was causing a disturbance. Trying to sneak off with Theon.” He looked up at Yara and his smile was utterly chilling. “Naughty naughty,” he said, a childish admonishment that had the same effect on Yara as falling into the sea near Pyke on a winter’s morning. She shivered, unable to take her eyes off Ramsay. 

He stepped forward then, his face only inches from Yara and it took every ounce of Ironborn pride she’d ever felt to tilt up her chin, keep her eyes on his. “Theon is mine,” he said softly. “You don’t get to take him. And if you want to even think about starting some kind of fight about it here, I would remind you that the private rooms are very, very private and have some very, very interesting toys to play with. And if I want to play with you and my hand just happens to slip… well, who knows what we might have to write on the accident report. I can assure you, however, that the club has excellent insurance. Whatever happens to you, it will barely make a line in the annual report. Now, how sure are you that you want to extend the family reunion?”

*****

Yara didn’t stop shivering for a long time after she got back to her car. It had seemed like a good idea, to try and get to Theon in a public place, but if there had ever been any trust between the siblings, it had long since been poisoned by Ramsay. 

“Theon,” said Yara softly to herself. “How did you get yourself into this?” 

But she knew how, or at least knew where some of the blame should lie. Which meant, she knew, that she couldn’t give up on him. 

Which meant she needed help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, still not in a fun place, but at least Theon has someone who wants to save him.
> 
> Lyrics to Reno Dakota
> 
> Reno Dakota, there's not an iota of kindness in you  
> You know you enthrall me and yet you don't call me  
> It's making me blue,  
> Pantone 292  
> Reno Dakota, I'm reaching my quota of tears for the year  
> Alas and alack! you just don't call me back  
> You have just disappeared, it makes me drink beer  
> I know you're a recluse  
> You know that's no excuse  
> Reno, that's just a ruse  
> Do not play fast and loose with my heart  
> Reno Dakota, I'm no Nino Rota,  
> I don't know the score  
> Have I annoyed you or is there a boy who  
> Well, he's just a whore I've had him before  
> It makes me drink more


	3. I Can’t Touch You Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need you to trust me. Just to listen to me. And then I need you to save Theon.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” said Yara, and then corrected herself. “He doesn’t have any reason to trust me.”

Robb’s expression had barely changed since she had turned up at the Stark doorstep, insisted on talking to him, waited while Sansa argued Robb into submission on the fact that she wanted to listen to what Yara had to say as well. It was, Yara conceded, a look of healthy and well-founded scepticism. There was no love lost between Stark and Greyjoy. Except for Theon. Until he’d done what he’d done. 

“Why should _we_ trust you?” asked Robb.

“I don’t need you to trust me. Just to listen to me. And then I need you to save Theon.” 

“Save him from what?” asked Sansa, patiently. Her expression held a certain wariness but was much softer than Robb’s.

Yara took a deep breath, ordered the story in her head, aware how disjointed she’d been so far. “There are… people everyone knows. In the communities I belong to. People who you get told about. People with giant fucking red flags being waved over their heads and pointed at them. Dangerous people that you stay well away from, unless you know exactly what you are getting into. And then there’s Ramsay Bolton.”

Robb’s mouth twisted. “Theon’s boyfriend,” he said. 

“No,” replied Yara. “Theon’s captor. Theon’s… master. Ramsay doesn’t do sex. Or if he does, he doesn’t care about it. Ramsay does pain.”

“Pain?” Sansa echoed, her voice faint. 

“Ramsay loves pain. Loves inflicting it.” Yara looked to one side and then picked up the bottle of beer she’d managed to cadge out of Robb and took a long drink. “It’s not my thing, but a lot of people I know like to dabble in that sort of stuff. And some of them like to do more than dabble. But it’s all consensual and there are rules and safe words and most of them make sure they don’t do anything too permanent.” She trailed to a stop.

“But Ramsay,” prompted Robb.

“Ramsay mutilates people,” said Yara, brutally. “There’s no safe words. He doesn’t play by the rules. And he seriously fucks with people’s heads. He isolates them from everyone they know, keeps them prisoner in his house. Makes up games to play with them; lets them think they can escape from him and then “catches” them and punishes them. His daddy is rich enough and has enough of the same tastes that Ramsay’s managed to buy himself out of a lot of trouble and buy a lot of silence. And he’s got Theon.”

Robb looked at Sansa and then back at Yara. “Theon went by choice.” His mouth twisted suddenly. “And then he came back when we weren’t home and cleaned out everything he owned and half the stuff the rest of us owned.”

“Ramsay made him,” said Yara. She didn’t know but she _knew._

“He stole from Bran and Rickon,” said Robb, suddenly furious. “He stole from little kids!”

“Of course he did,” said Yara, almost scornfully. “Because what’s the one thing you _wouldn’t_ forgive? What’s the one thing he could do that would make sure you never tried to track him down? Would make sure you never trusted him again? It wasn’t Theon’s choice, Stark. Ramsay made him do it. Because you - you and Sansa - are the two people Theon cares for in all the world and who cared for him.” Yara looked away from Robb. “Or at least, that’s what Theon thought. So if Ramsay could cut you away from Theon, then there was nowhere for him to go. Drowned God!” Yara scrubbed her hands through her hair. “He’s got a psychopath cutting off pieces of him and he’s completely alone.”

“How,” said Sansa. “How do you know about this? Why do you need our help?” 

“I heard,” said Yara. “Like I said, there’s people I know that know people that know people, kind of thing. And that’s how I found out Ramsay had Theon. I already knew what Ramsay was. He’s bought a lot of silence, but he isn’t smart enough to be discreet. I didn’t think I could get Theon out of Ramsay’s house, but even in the circles Ramsay runs in, there’s people who want to stop him doing what he does. I knew he was getting Theon to a club he goes to, and I thought I could maybe, in a public place…” She paused. “It didn’t work. Theon was terrified of me. And Ramsay,” she stopped again, shuddered in memory. “Ramsay wasn’t frightened of me at all.” She looked down at the beer in her hands, drank the rest of it in one long pull. “Theon looked like… it wasn’t good.”

“But why do you care?” asked Robb, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’ve never had anything to do with Theon. Not since he came to live with us.”

Yara looked away from both of them, out of the window. She wasn’t good at personal. 

Sansa, who was remarkably perceptive for her age, uncurled from her seat and disappeared, reappearing a few moments later with another beer for Yara. 

Yara nodded her thanks, opened the beer, took another long pull. “You don’t need to know about all the family shit. Really, you don’t. But I told Balon what Ramsay was doing to Theon and he…” Yara stopped again, took another drink of her beer. “He’s the only son he has left. He’s my _brother_. I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep doing what Balon wanted, which was fucking nothing.” She shrugged. “But I fucked it up. I fucked all of it up. Long ago. Theon doesn’t trust me, so I can’t save him.” Frustration tore at her then, and Yara had to stop herself from kicking the table leg in front of her as hard as she could. 

“But why would Theon do that?” asked Robb, and for the first time since she’d arrived, he didn’t look suspicious, just bewildered. “Why would he give himself to someone like Ramsay?”

“You don’t know,” said Yara, her voice low. “You don’t know what it’s like growing up with someone like Balon, with Rodrik and Maron. Apparently there are things called “healthy coping mechanisms”.” Yara’s smile was grim. “We don’t have those.” Yara took a deep breath. She didn’t want to say the next bit, but saving Theon was too important. “I’ve been known to get stinking drunk and go punch walls, because at least if you break your hand, the pain is on the outside and real and you can manage that pain. It’s _easier_. Theon… Theon probably needed someone to hurt him.” She sighed. “It was probably just bad timing,” she said, softly. “Ramsay found him, just when he was in a bad place. But the problem is, Ramsay doesn’t let you go.” She finished the rest of her second beer in one go. “Theon should have used his smart mouth to get someone to punch him in the face. Or fucked someone he didn’t care about,” she said. “There’s more than enough ways to hurt yourself without ending up with Ramsay. My brother’s just an unlucky little fuck. Always has been.”

“So what do you want us to do?” asked Robb, almost helplessly.

“Save Theon,” replied Yara, then rolled her eyes at Robb’s look. “Ramsay is… he won’t let Theon go. But… I know people who got away from him. And I know people that got some of his previous… toys… away from him. I’ve got names of lawyers and cops and people who can make sure once Theon is away from Ramsay, we can make sure he never gets near him again. And it’s worked. I suspect Daddy Bolton still keeps Ramsay on a relatively tight leash to make sure the worst of what he does never gets made public, so once the restraining orders kick in, Ramsay moves on. But I can’t get Theon away from him. He doesn’t trust me. He won’t come with me. All you’ve got to do is get Theon to get into a car with you and I can give you all the information you need to make sure that’s the last time that Bolton stain will ever be allowed within a hundred miles of my little brother. I just need your help to do the first bit.”

“We’ll do it,” said Sansa and shrugged when Robb stared at her. “Look, Robb,” she said, “you’re going to think of all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this and argue them all out and tick them all off in your head before you decide we are going to do it. It’s Theon. He’s in pain. We can stop that. We’ll do it and you know we will. I just figure it’s quicker without Yara and me having to listen to all your arguments about why we shouldn’t first.”

Robb stared at Sansa for a long time, and then finally made a noise that was clearly a grudging agreement, without accepting in any way that his little sister had bested him. “Fine,” he said. “So what do I need to do?” he asked Yara. 

“We,” added Sansa. “What do _we_ do?” She didn’t even deign to glance at Robb as she clearly staked out her place in this. 

Yara decided not to join in on any inter-sibling issues. “I have Ramsay’s address. And I know when he’s travelling for a few days. All you’ve got to do is persuade Theon to come with you, while Ramsay’s out of the picture.”

“Deal,” replied Sansa and Robb nodded.

*****

Ramsay had been gone for at least three hours, for a business trip that was supposed to last for two days. Long enough, Robb judged, that he wasn’t hiding around the other corner, waiting to come back and surprise Theon. Yara had managed to convince him that there was at least a reasonable danger of that. But Ramsay’s flight should have left an hour ago and he would be in the air for at least another four hours. It was the best window they had.

He suspected Ramsay had surveillance on the front door, but hoped either that Theon wouldn’t think to look at it, or he’d be so surprised by Robb’s appearance that he’d open the door. Robb didn’t think he had a lot of choice either way, so he left Sansa lingering at the front gate and simply leaned on the doorbell.

There was no response for the longest time and then the door cracked open a few inches, enough for Robb to see dirty bronze curls and blue-green eyes that widened at the sight of him and then he used all the training he’d got back when he’d tried a few semesters of wrestling, to drive his entire bodyweight up through his legs and into his shoulders, crashing through the door.

There was a short tangle of limbs and half-shouting and then Sansa was slipping through the door behind him and closing it and Theon wrested himself away from Robb, disappearing backwards through the door into what looked like the lounge room. Theon had always been fast, but Robb was faster this time, driven by desperation and he sprinted after Theon, catching the back of his shirt and bringing him to a halt.

Theon turned, shoved himself away from Robb, but didn’t try to run and Robb finally got his first good look at his friend since all those months ago. 

“Seven fucking hells, Theon,” blurted Robb. “What the fuck has he done to you?”

Theon stared at him and then glanced at Sansa and back to Robb. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said in a low voice.

“ _You_ shouldn’t be here,” Robb retorted. “Gods!” He reached out a shaking hand, withdrew it as Theon flinched back from him. Yara hadn’t lied about how Theon had looked; his face was all cheekbones and blue-green eyes looking far too large, his collarbones jutting out of his shirt, which hung off him. He looked starved and, Robb had to agree with Yara, more than half-mad.

“Theon,” said Sansa in a soft voice from behind Robb. “What’s happened to your hand, Theon?”

Robb hadn’t noticed, too close to see, but he glanced down now, and realised how awkwardly Theon was holding his right hand.

“He broke it,” said Theon quietly. “I had to be punished. Yara came and she shouldn’t have come and I had to be punished.”

“He broke your hand,” said Sansa softly. “And you haven’t gone to the doctor?”

“I can’t,” Theon shook his head wildly. “I deserved it. I deserve to be punished.”

“Gods, Theon,” said Robb, suddenly distraught. “No-one deserves that. You don’t deserve anything like that. Come home with us, Theon.”

Theon shook his head again. “No,” he said. “No, I can’t, I don’t deserve, he’ll punish me… you shouldn’t be here.”

“Theon,” said Sansa, the tone of her voice gentle and infinitely patient. “We’ve talked to Yara. We know ways to make sure you are safe. If you come home with us we can make sure you never have to see Ramsay again.”

Theon’s head came up then and he looked at Sansa, his eyes wild, with a sudden burn of hope that came and went, like a dying star. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Why not?” asked Robb, making his voice gentle, trying not to let his anger at what Ramsay had done into his tone.

“I did things. I…” Theon stopped for a moment, started again, his voice barely audible. “I betrayed you.”

“Theon,” Robb said, anguished.

“I fucked everything up, Robb,” said Theon softly. “Everything. I can’t make amends. Not to you. Not to Sansa. Not to Bran and Rickon or Arya or anyone. How could you take me back?”

Robb reached out again and drew his hand back at Theon’s violent flinch backwards. “Theon, please,” he said softly.

“Don’t,” Theon shook his head. “Don’t. You can’t… you can’t touch me. How could you want to after everything I’ve done? Everything I’ve let him do? He… he punished me. Over and over. Cut away pieces of me. I don’t even know what’s Theon any more. It’s all… he’s carved himself into me. Into my skin. I can’t… you don’t want to touch me. You can’t want to.”

Robb took a deep breath, then reached out and grabbed Theon’s shoulders, ignored the sudden tensing of them beneath his hands, drew Theon into his embrace. He waited until he felt Theon’s muscles soften slightly, and then tilted his head up, kissed Theon gently on the forehead. “I’ve loved you since I was eight years old and you punched Smalljon Umber because he tried to take my lunch. Everyone always expected me to be the one to protect them; you were the only person who ever wanted to protect me. Come home, Theon.”

“Come home,” echoed Sansa, and Robb drew back, looked at her. “You told me you’d punch Mr Baelish for me, so Robb wouldn’t have to, so you could protect both of us. You’ve always wanted to be our knight in shining armour. Let us be yours.”

For a moment, Theon smiled, almost normally, and then panic appeared on his face again. “But what about if he finds out? What if he’s coming back? He’ll punish me. I can’t… what about if he finds you here? You need to go. You need to get out.”

“Theon,” said Sansa, calmly but sharply and her blue eyes held Theon’s. “I will stay here as long as it takes to get you to come with us. Even if he’s coming back. Come with us. Now. And we’ll be safe. Otherwise I’ll be here when Ramsay comes back.”

Sansa Stark was the smartest person Theon Greyjoy knew and she knew exactly the right words to say to him.

Theon nodded.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“There’s nothing here you need to get?” asked Robb.

Theon took a deep breath. “There’s nothing here I want. Nothing at all.”

*****

Theon was quiet in the seat behind Robb and Sansa sat beside him, watching him closely as he huddled against the door. He was smaller now, not just thin, but curled in on himself, taking up as little space as possible.

She could hear Robb on the phone as he drove them back to Winterfell, away from Dreadfort. Telling Yara they had Theon, then letting Ned know, making sure the Volantis Private Clinic knew that they were on their way, calling Knight & Vale to make sure they were able to get the restraining order filed ASAP.

She reached out her hand, laid it gently over Theon’s.

It took a long time, longer than she had hoped, but eventually his hand turned over under her hand, his fingers tentatively curling around hers.

She didn’t let go of his hand for all of the long trip home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things about this universe that I love is that Robb is still alive and I get to write Robb & Theon and I just love them together. 
> 
> Oh, and for those trying to work out it out, in my Westeros, they drive on the left. 
> 
> Lyrics to I Can’t Touch You Anymore
> 
> You wanna know if we fell in love too fast  
> You wanna know if this is well too good to last  
> You're asking the wrong questions  
> You're opening the wrong doors  
> I love you, I can't touch you anymore  
> I can't touch you anymore, there's so much to hate you for  
> I love you, I can't touch you anymore  
> You wanna tell me 50 ways you've left your lovers  
> You wanna tell me how you've loved 200 others  
> You're asking…  
> You wanna tell me 50 ways you've left your lovers  
> You wanna tell me how you've loved 200 others  
> You're asking the wrong questions  
> You're opening the wrong doors  
> I love you, I can't touch you anymore  
> I can't touch you anymore, there's so much to hate you for  
> I love you, I can't touch you anymore


	4. If You Don’t Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You did save him. You did. It’s just sometimes we need to be saved more than once.”

Catelyn was in the kitchen when Robb arrived home, threw his keys on the counter and took a beer out of the fridge, downing half of it in one go. 

“How is he?” she asked softly.

Robb turned, leaning back against the counter. “Better,” he said, though he didn’t sound quite like he meant it. “They’ve taken him off most of the sedation now, so he’s awake. They think he’s got through the worst of the withdrawal as well. They’re still not entirely sure what Ramsay had him on but they think it was mostly prescription stuff. Theon didn’t want to be on them, so they think now the worst of the physical stuff is done, there won’t be a psychological addiction.”

“And his hand?”

Robb shrugged. “They think the operation has fixed most of the problems, though they’re still worried he might lose his little finger.” He took another swig of the beer. “Ramsay broke it a week or two before we got him out. Must have been just after Yara saw him. Maybe even the same night. Then he just left him… Who does that? Who fucking does that to someone else?”

“More people than you might think,” said Catelyn quietly. Her work had taught her that. “But it’s not something that should ever be allowed to happen.”

“He won’t press charges,” said Robb, his voice harsh. “Yara’s asked. I’ve asked. Theon won’t do it. He just…” Robb turned his head to one side, sniffed suddenly. “He said he can’t do it. Can’t see Ramsay again. He’s frightened he just wouldn’t be able to stand up to him if he saw him again.”

Catelyn reached out, touched Robb’s hand gently. “I’m not judging him, Robb,” she said. “I know you think Ned and I want Theon to press charges. We just want what’s good for Theon.”

Robb wouldn’t look at her. “I know,” he said. “Theon… he still won’t see you. Not yet. And they won’t let Sansa in to see him yet. The clinic’s got rules about minors needing their parents with him. She really wants to see him.”

“She will,” replied Catelyn. “Once he’s a bit better, a bit stronger, maybe we can phone him and he’ll know we’ll support whatever he wants.” 

Robb looked back at her then. “You’ve never liked him, Mum,” he said. “He knows that. You haven’t exactly made a secret of the fact you don’t like him.”

Catelyn sighed deeply, stepped back from Robb. She leaned back against the fridge, looking at her son. “I haven’t,” she said. “Same as I have with Jon. Ned… Ned likes picking up the strays but he’s not the one that has take care of them.” Her voice strengthened then. “I made a mistake, Robb. With both Theon and Jon. I will fix it, I promise. When the time is right and you think Theon will believe it, tell him that we love him and we want him to come home and we’ll take care of him.”

Robb nodded, his eyes shining with tears for a moment and then took another drink of his beer, fiddled with the neck of the bottle. 

“Have you heard anything more from the lawyers?” Catelyn asked, trying to break the silence. 

Robb cleared his throat. “Since Ramsay sent that email,” it had been vile, an outpouring of thwarted rage, aimed at Robb and Sansa, “they’ve got the restraining order widened. He can’t contact any Starks, can’t come to Winterfell. If Sansa had seen what he said… I would have pressed charges, no matter what Theon said.”

“He must have seen you. And her. To know. To say what he said,” said Catelyn, and Robb nodded. “Why did you take her with you?” she asked, but her voice was gentle not accusatory. She could see Robb was on the edge of some kind of breakdown and didn’t want to drive him there. Family relationships were fragile enough as it was, and she needed to steer the Stark ship through these troubled waters with a gentle hand.

“She insisted,” Robb said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “She was there when Yara came and then she wouldn’t let me say no to her. She said the right things, you know, she knew what to say to get him to come with us, when he was so close to panicking, to staying. She just… I know I shouldn’t have taken her. I know. But she was so brave and so strong and I’m not sure I could have got Theon away without her.” 

“She’s a very special girl,” replied Catelyn. 

“She is,” said Robb. “I never realised… She used to hate Theon, you know? He pulled her hair all the time when he was a kid. Laughed at her because she wanted to be a princess. But as soon as Yara told us what was happening... Gods, it was like watching her take up a flaming sword and charge into battle.” He looked away from Catelyn again, took a deep breath that grew ragged. “Mama,” he said softly and Catelyn’s heart seized in her chest. He hadn’t called her Mama since he was a little boy. 

“What happened, Robb?” she asked. 

“The lawyers… they needed some photos. For evidence. Just in case, for the restraining order. Theon wouldn’t do it unless I stayed with him. Oh Mama, what Ramsay did to him. He’s just… there’s so many scars. He tortured him, Mama. I can’t… I thought I’d saved him, Mama and then I saw…”

Catelyn reached her arms out then and Robb fell into them, her big, strong, brave son sobbing into her shoulder. She held him, her hands soothing over his back until his tears slowed. “Oh Robb, you did save him. You did. It’s just sometimes we need to be saved more than once. And you did it again, my baby boy. You saved him again. He’s safe now. And we’ll be here for him, when he’s ready to come home. All of us. You did save him.”

“And Sansa did, Mama. She saved him, too,” said Robb into her shoulder.

“Oh my boy,” said Catelyn, her voice trembling but full of pride. “How did I make such wonderful babies? Strong and brave and good and kind. I couldn’t be prouder of both of you.” 

Robb nodded and then straightened up, wiping his eyes. “Love you, Mama,” he said. “Maybe… I thought maybe we could go and get some stuff, get Theon’s bedroom ready for when he comes home. It’s going to be a while. Ramsay did things to his head… he’s started therapy, but they think it’ll be months before he’s well enough to come home. But I thought it’d be nice to start. Give me something to do while we wait. I was going to ask Sansa to come with me. Maybe you could come to?”

She smiled up at him, then, wiped the tears from under her eyes. “I’d love to do that, Robb. Let’s get ready to bring Theon home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is that for the Theon/Ramsay arc. Trying to make Ramsay work in a modern world is an interesting problem, but hopefully I’ve managed to create something plausible. 
> 
> It also turns out that I like writing Catelyn & Robb and exploring more of the Stark family dynamics. 
> 
> Lyrics to If You Don’t Cry
> 
> Softly the crystals falling on 17th Street do their dance and die and are gone  
> Millions of crystal balls roll around your feet and nothing gets done  
> An hour goes by  
> She doesn't  
> If you don't cry it isn't love  
> If you don't cry then you just don't feel it deep enough  
> Dying all day in thousands of little ways…


End file.
